


My One And Lonely

by Laerkstrein



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laerkstrein/pseuds/Laerkstrein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always does this to him, and as much as he loves the end result, he hates all of the rest. This beautiful creature has been gone for far too long, has spent so much time away that he has all but forgotten the sensation of her touch, her very smell. How can she expect him to wait to be undone again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My One And Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my [LJ comm](http://niger-ut-niveus.livejournal.com/147203.html) on 05.22.13. 
> 
> Recommended tune is "Love The Way You Lie" by Skylar Grey.

The room is dark save for the steadily flickering bulb of an old lamp in one corner, and the floor is littered with papers, many of which are crumpled and torn. Among them, in the dim light, lay pencils worn down to the eraser and gnawed in half, and cigarettes, both used and new, strewn about with various articles of clothing. All in all, the place is a mess, and it smells terribly of secondhand smoke. 

For the the billionth time, the bulb dies out completely, and he snorts, the darkness giving way to the soft sound of a knock on the door. 

It isn't a party house anymore, though many would be inclined to disagree based on the state of the shoddy little apartment. He's since grown weary of answering the door, of having people interrupt his already elusive muse to inquire as to where the alcohol is being served. So he sits in silence, takes a long drag of the cigarette and feels around on the floor at his feet for the ash tray, knocking it over in the process. 

Again, a knock sounds, and he growls, bites his tongue as he spits the smoke onto the carpet and snuffs it out with the heel of a boot. A few quick strides across the blackened room, and he's standing with his fingers barely grazing the knob, wondering just how he could alert the police as to the consistent disturbances when the payphone is on the street corner outside the building. So he swears, bites himself again, and unfastens the many locks that line the crack of the door, yanking it open with a fury that he hopes will startle whatever bastard has the gall to come calling at this hour of the night. 

He stands stunned, eyes wide and showing the first sparks of life in a long while. There are no words exchanged, just her hand on his cheek and his fingers fastening themselves into her white-blond hair. 

No explanation as to the visit, and certainly no "hello," for she pushes him back, sends him reeling as the door is kicked shut behind them, leaving the pair to be utterly enveloped by the dark that, for him, seems to have been lifted into sunshine.

_She came back._

He wonders, as she shoves his jacket to the floor, claws through his shirt and discards the shreds, just how long it's been since they last saw each other. Too long, his mind screams, and, before he knows what's happened, he's knocked backwards onto the tattered old sofa. 

They kiss, a violent ritual of teeth scraping together and tongues lapping at whatever skin is within reach. He throws his head back, a fluttering in his chest as she jams a finger into his mouth, followed quickly by a second, her lips parting a moment to latch onto the hollow of his throat. She growls long and loud, the sound shooting him full of tremors, her remaining hand fiercely tearing the belt from his waist, sharp nails dipping into the now heated cavern of his restrictive leather pants. 

She's always on top when it comes to sex, and he is the whimpering hound on her leash. 

Nothing has changed.

Her hand vanishes far too soon, leaving him eager and willing, coming up instead to knot in his dark hair, the other ghosting a wet trail down his stomach. 

"I've missed you," he chokes, and she touches him, stretching him as he writhes. "I..."

There is a breath of relief as she raises her head, licking a trace of blood from her lips. He shakes, lifts a hand hesitantly to trace her jaw, only to fall and tear through the flimsy fabric of her top and lap feverishly at the empty space between her breasts. 

She pulls away and he allows a pained frown to crease his brow, almost whining as she shifts hard against him, pulling the shreds of clothing from her frame as he begins to whimper. She always does this to him, and as much as he loves the end result, he hates all of the rest. The torture. This beautiful creature has been gone for far too long, has spent so much time away that he has all but forgotten the sensation of her touch, her very smell. How can she expect him to wait to be undone again?

He moans quietly as her nimble fingers begin to tease again, and in a fit of mania, he reaches up, knots his own fingers in her hair, and draws his lips up to meet hers. 

God, he's desperate, needs her to cut to the chase and just take him. He hasn't been claimed in so long, even with the city teeming with dominating women far too eager to make a man scream. She's the only one he's ever wanted, all he's ever needed, and with her hips thrown hard against his, he feels complete again, whimpering like some needy whore.

_"Adam."_

His eyes open, her face soft and graced with a smile as she peers down at him. A moment, and her mask is broken by their mutual moment of unrequited bliss, shudders wracking the pair of them until he's certain his brains have been shaken loose. 

She falls forward, their noses touching amid hot breaths. It is with a sigh that he gets a hold of himself, quiet and secure in her arms as she rolls off him, content to drown in the lingering sparks of friction that heat their cold skin. 

"Lonely boy," Eve whispers, and his head is swept into the crook of her arm. She drags a palm across his brow, runs fingers through his hair. "Always alone."

"Now with you here," he wants to say, but his only reply is a steady intake of breath before his eyes finally drift shut. 

She's come back for him, and that's the only thing that matters.


End file.
